


In the Private Seating

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Original Work
Genre: Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, F/F, Light BDSM, Neck Kissing, Neckties and The Many Uses Thereof, Nipple Play, Porn with Feelings, Sex in a Theater, Stripping, Treat, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: "Before I go,” Albinia murmured, “there is one thing I really did want to tell you. Though I suppose it won’t make a difference to you now.”Clementia swallowed. “What is it?”“I’m not wearing a shirt under this coat.”Or, the one where a regency debutante decides maybe the trouble is worth it.





	In the Private Seating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nisiedraws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nisiedraws/gifts).



Clementia didn’t always like opera. The music was nice but she would get much too involved in the plot, and she hated tragedies. Sometimes her companion, Mrs. Baynham, would start sobbing at the end and telling her over and over again, “It was beautiful, wasn’t it? Oh, it was beautiful!” But Clementia never cried, only felt frustration at her mood being ruined.

Nevertheless, it was quite in style for a debutante to attend the theater for time to time, and Mrs. Baynham had assured her that this piece, _La cambiale di matrimonio_ , was a comedy, a fact that the program affirmed. So Clementia really hoped it would be a nice evening. A bit boring—none of her friends had been available tonight so she and Mrs. Baynham were alone in her family’s private box and Mrs. Baynham’s chatter was getting slowly more intolerable—but if the plot was good then Clementia hoped she could forget all that. And perhaps her other recent troubles as well.

“Ah, I do love the violins, don’t you?” Mrs. Baynham sighed. “My late husband played the violin on occasion—not that he was a musician, mind you, but he was a man of many talents, if you know what I mean. Ah, a night like this makes me miss him so. But never mind me, dear. Do you like the music?”

They were still playing the introductory theme, no singers even onstage yet. Clementia sighed. “Yes, it’s quite lovely.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. But really…”

A woman and a man had come onstage, and Clementia leaned forward. Her Italian was not as good as it might have been, but she didn’t want to miss the introductory facts. Apparently they were servants discussing a recent letter. But just as things started to get good, there came a knock on the door to their box.

Mrs. Baynham’s eyes were fixed on the stage. Clementia sighed and opened the door herself. It was a man with an envelope. He handed it to her. It had the name “Deborah Baynham” on it. Clementia poked Mrs. Baynham until she looked over and then handed it to her.

Mrs. Baynham opened the letter. She studied the first couple lines. Onstage, the first duet was over and a man in a nightgown had replaced the earlier singers. He had received the letter the servants were talking about. Clementia was settling in when Mrs. Baynham touched her hand. Raising her voice a bit so as to be heard over the singing, she said, “I’m sorry, dear, it seems like I’m needed elsewhere.”

“What?”

That was impossible. Mrs. Baynham was…well, she wasn’t exactly popular; even though after her husband’s death she had become a social butterfly, she had no real close friends except Clementia’s family. And Clementia’s father had specifically requested that she keep an eye on Clementia this evening (as she did constantly of late), so that Clementia wouldn’t “get herself into trouble” (or, in other words, start another scandal that he might not be able to avert this time).

“Well, this note says…” Mrs. Baynham lowered her eyes. “Well, I’m needed elsewhere. You can take care of yourself for a little while, can’t you poppet? The door locks, after all.”

Clementia nodded.

“All right. I’ll be back before the end of the show, I’m sure. Don’t worry over me.”

And with that she scuttled off.

Before the end of the show? But that would be quite a while—this opera was more than an hour. Still, it was none of Clementia’s business. She leaned back in her chair and listened to the singer onstage rant about arranging a marriage for his daughter. Already she could tell it was headed nowhere good.

Then, another knock.

Mrs. Baynham back already? Clementia stood with a sigh. But when she opened the door, it was not Mrs. Baynham.

It was Albinia Lemoine.

Clementia took a step back. She almost closed the door but Albinia was a foot in already. Still, Clementia didn’t let her advance further. She straightened her posture and gave Albinia a questioning stare.

Albinia, much like the last time Clementia had seen her, was wearing men’s clothing. A pair of neatly fit trousers that tapered into a pair of well polished boots, very respectable if she had only been a man. Her hair pulled back into a neat little braid, barely a strand of it escaping. And a thick woolen coat on top which reached halfway down her thighs and buttoned halfway up the neck. She tilted her head and gave Clementia an unladylike smirk, and Clementia returned it with a glare.

“What are you doing here? Do you want to get me in trouble again?”

“Clem, I can barely hear you.” Albinia stepped closer, forcing Clementia to retreat. She shut the door behind them and clicked the lock shut. Clearly she thought they would be conspiring; she thought wrong. “What did you say again?”

Clementia stepped nearer. Smiling sweetly she beckoned for Albinia to lean down (she was a good seven inches taller than Clementia). With her mouth at Albinia’s ear, she muttered, “Get. Out.”

Albinia’s eyebrows rose. Still smirking, she said, “And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m on thin ice with my father. And my reputation will dive into the dregs if I get caught with a professional scandal maker.” Clementia spoke a bit louder now, as Albinia had straightened up. “Since I was caught with you…”

“Since we were caught. We were caught together,” Albinia said.

As if it mattered to Albinia. She was hardly any older than Clementia, but society had already given her up as a spinster. Half her free time she spent causing a ruckus, drinking and whoring or hanging around in men’s clothing or both. She had a brother who was already married to a saint of a woman, who said he would take care of Albinia if she never married, which seemed to suit her fine. Not everyone could act so freely.

“Since _I_ was caught with you,” Clementia said, “I’ve been dragging Deborah fucking Baynham…”

“I love your dirty little mouth,” Albinia muttered.

“…like a ball and chain. My father won’t let me be anywhere without her.”

“She isn’t here now.”

“She could be back any minute.”

“She won’t be. Or did you think that letter was a coincidence?”

Ah. Albinia was scheming something.

“You know she’s been lusting after Gerald Risley for years. Well, she’s gone off to meet him, and I expect they’ll be busy for some time.”

“Gerald is ten years younger than her. You expect me to believe you managed to set that up?”

“Gerald has a broad taste. Baynham’s always amused him. And he’s a friend. So that’s taken care of.” Albinia put her hands in her pockets. They looked terribly deep and wide—Clementia instinctively tried to do the same and scowled when her hands only came up against the sheer fabric of her dress. “Now we’re going to talk about why you’ve been avoiding me for the past month.”

“I think I just explained that.”

“Clem. We both know you’re good enough to avoid a chaperone.” Albinia stared over her shoulder at the man still singing onstage, now growing very serious and businesslike about his marriage proposition. “I was waiting for you to send me a message, you know.”

“Were you really.”

“Couldn’t risk sending you one. But you could have managed.”

“I probably could have.”

Albinia nodded. For a long moment she stared at the stage, almost as if she were almost enjoying the action. But Clementia could see the tension in her neck, the set of her shoulders. Some time ago it would have been her pleasure to massage that away. But, she reminded herself, she had decided that was over.

 Then, as a girl entered the stage, Albinia took one hand out of her pocket. “I suppose before I’d leave, I’d better return this.”

She was holding a neatly folded necktie, dark blue and silken. Clementia recognized it, of course. But she didn’t want to take it.

“Perhaps you’d better keep that.”

“I gave it to you as a gift.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You wanted it before.”

Clementia forced her face to stay neutral. She remembered how Albinia had looped it around her neck, carefully tying the knot. That had been only two months ago, but it felt like a forever. That had been the first night she’d dared to dress like Albinia did. The pants had been surprisingly comfortable though a bit restrictive to the waist, and she’d held herself perfectly still as Albinia did her buttons and straightened her jacket. She’d barely recognized herself in the mirror when they were done. But she’d recognized the look in Albinia’s eyes—admiration and desire on a scale she had never thought she’d see directed at herself. So she’d played Albinia’s game, and been surprised by how much she enjoyed it.

But she shouldn’t have enjoyed it. This could get her in much too much trouble, and she thought of herself as a sensible girl. Still, she accepted the necktie from Albinia and slipped it into her little purse.

“Thank you.”

“It is yours, after all.” Albinia hesitated. She stepped close to Clementia, so close that Clementia was staring into her tight woolen collar. “Before I go,” she murmured, “there is one thing I really did want to tell you. Though I suppose it won’t make a difference to you now.”

Clementia swallowed. “What is it?”

“I’m not wearing a shirt under this coat.”

What.

Clementia looked up, chin almost scraping the coat in question. Albinia shrugged a little self deprecatingly. “Well, I was optimistic.”

What.

“And you know I’m a whore. I guess I should have expected…Well. A funny story for you to remember.” Albinia patted Clementia’s arm. “I’ll be off.”

But she didn’t actually move. And Clementia couldn’t bring herself to step away either.

This was a stupid idea. Albinia in general was a stupid idea. And this box was not a good place for that sort of rendezvous. It was fairly dark, and they were far enough back to be hidden from sight, but not completely. It was a stupid risk to take.

But. All that effort just for Clementia? Clementia shook her head slightly and smiled. Well, perhaps she deserved at least a little appreciation.

She brought her hands up to Albinia’s collar and unbuttoned the top button, then the second. There was no scarf or tie, at least. The third button, then, and the fourth, and the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, the eighth, straight down to the bottom. She didn’t open it yet, only stared at the thin strip of pale flesh revealed between the borders of the fabric, the neatly embroidered hems.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Albinia said quietly.

Onstage, the old man was trying to explain matters to his daughter.

“No,” Clementia said.

Albinia reached to close the coat, but Clementia caught her wrists. “I can manage that myself.”

In one swoop, she pulled the coat off and threw it on to the back of one of the chairs. She turned her eyes upon the vast expanse of skin now left behind. Alb, Alb, Alb—that was what she liked to be called when she was dressed as a man, and there was a certain glide to it. Yet underneath so feminine. Her breasts were not large, still small enough to fit in the hand—and Clementia did fit her hands around them, lifting them up with her palms and pushing fingers gently into the skin above. They were just right.

“Clementia,” Albinia said, a slight strain on her voice.

“All right,” Clementia said, “you don’t have to leave.”

Having made the decision to enjoy the moment, her self discipline left her in a quick collapse. She barely made the choice to pull Albinia down, to press her lips against her neck and taste her sweat, but the flavor was in her mouth within moments regardless. Albinia used the same cologne as her brother, and she always smelled and tasted like musk. Clementia swallowed the scent down and then sucked, looking for more. Then Albinia’s hands were fisted in her hair and no, that wasn’t quite right, that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to devour without interruptions.

Letting go of Albinia, she fetched her purse and pulled out her necktie. “Hands in front, doll.” Albinia complied, and Clementia tied a neat knot. It was escapable, and not tight enough to really restrict Albinia if she wanted to break loose. But it would be a reminder. “You know I like you to stand still.”

“Yes, I know.” Albinia’s voice was lower than usual. “Mistress.”

Clementia smirked. “Good girl. Or should I call you boy right now?” She kissed Albinia’s neck again, a little higher, close to her chin. Albinia gasped.

“Mistress.”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you on the lips?”

“I may kiss you on the lips, and you may reciprocate.”

She did. Albinia kissed back. She was a bit more eager than usual, tongue desperate against Clementia’s teeth and lips. It made Clementia feel a little twinge of guilt. She must have really missed Clementia, these past weeks. And the taste of her, even the sight of her, was better than Clementia had remembered, though to be fair she had been trying to forget.

I may not be able to let this go, she realized dimly. But enough of that for now.

She broke the kiss. Shoving Albinia against the door to the box, she lowered her lips to Albinia’s breast and wrapped them around the nipple, gently flicking it with her tongue, darting her tongue in and out and then giving it a slow, obscene suck. Albinia groaned and bucked a little, but her hands were still tied and Clementia had her fastened to the door by a grip on her hips. Clementia swirled her tongue, then said, “Do you like being pinned?”

“I…yes.”

“Do you like being mine?”

Albinia only moaned. It sounded a bit too much like pain. Clementia stroked her breasts soothingly. “It’s all right. You are mine. I made a mistake. Look at you. How could I let go of something like this?”

“Clementia.” Somehow, Albinia made it sound like a prayer.

“What do you want, little one?” Albinia liked diminutives even though she was almost six feet tall.

“Yours. Make me yours. Make me…”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Clementia squeezed her breasts a little harder. She hoped so. She was getting wet herself—this had to be driving Albinia crazy. And there was nothing she liked more than slowly breaking Albinia apart. A recently discovered hobby, but very enjoyable.

“Please,” Albinia said. She tried to kiss Clementia, and Clementia dodged. “Please, please, please…”

“All right. Anything for you.” Clementia unbuttoned Albinia’s pants and slipped her hands in. Albinia hadn’t worn undergarments either—how bold. She searched with her fingertips until she found the clit, and gave it a little stroke. When Albinia shivered, she set her tongue back on Albinia’s breast and rhythmically licked and stroked, one hand on the clit while her other worked its way under to more private places. She loved Albinia’s wetness. It never ceased to get to her how easy Albinia was for her—she acted so tough and masculine in public but as soon as Clementia started to touch her she fell apart. Here was the liquid evidence, slippery and abundant. Clementia slipped her fingers a little deeper. With nothing pinning her hips, Albinia thrust into her touch, and Clementia laughed at how red her face had gotten.

Though, if she was honest, she probably looked similar.

When Albinia climaxed, she drenched Clementia’s hand, making Clementia laugh a little harder. She panted and leaned limply against the door. “Clementia.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Clementia offered Albinia’s nipples a last kiss each.

“Will you let me...?”

“Well. If you want.”

“Please.”

“On your knees then. But I’m not giving you your hands back. You’ll have to use your tongue.”

Albinia nodded. Clementia had to help her to her knees—with her hands tied and the post-orgasm trembling she was a wreck and would have probably bruised them. Today would leave bruises in some places—her neck, her hips underneath those too-loose pants, her breasts, maybe even one spot on her chin—but only where Clementia wanted them.

Clementia hiked her skirts up. She, of course, was wearing bloomers like any sane person. Albinia gave her a look when she didn’t pull them down.

“You may start,” Clementia said.

Hesitantly, Albinia nosed her groin, and Clementia snorted. Then she pressed her lips to it and slowly began to lick. The fabric shifted against Clementia’s clit and labias, and she resisted moaning. She wouldn’t fall apart faster than Albinia had. She just wouldn’t.

“You may take them down now, if you wish,” she said.

“With my…”

“No. Not your hands. Figure it out.”

Albinia carefully took the upper hem of the bloomers between her teeth. She began to pull down, slowly and surely. But the bloomers caught on Clementia’s butt and hips. Annoyed, Albinia yanked. The fabric ripped. “Oh, I’m…”

Clementia laughed. She would have to throw them out later and make sure no one saw (that would certainly cause questions) but she was too high to care. “Fine, I’ll give you a hand.” She ripped the bloomers the rest of the way, then threw them across the room, careless of where they landed. Continuing to hold her skirt up, she said, “Now. Do your job, doll.”

Albinia’s tongue returned where it belonged. She liked to linger on the clit, licking over and over again as Clementia grew wetter and more swollen. Clementia gasped at the strokes, and became aware that her hands were clenched on Albinia’s shoulders. More bruises for later, doubtless. But Albinia was driving her over the edge. Finally she came, quicker than Albinia had, but she’d been waiting for longer. She thought her lack of stamina was forgiveable.

Albinia stood shakily, with Clementia’s help. Clementia smiled and kissed her on the lips. She licked away a little of her own cum. “God, you’re a sight.”

“I love you,” Albinia said. It came out breathy, and when Clementia didn’t answer immediately she blinked too fast and licked her lips.

Clementia sighed.

Her instinct was to say the same. But it would feel cheap now, and especially after leaving Albinia alone for so long. She barely deserved to say it now. She would save it for later. Instead, she smoothed back a couple hairs that had escaped Albinia’s braid and said, “I won’t leave you for so long again. You’re mine.”

Albinia nodded.

They kissed again, and that was nice enough. But Albinia couldn’t stay for a retake. They were both too tired, but besides that, there was really no telling when Mrs. Baynham might come back.

So Clementia untied her necktie from Albinia’s hands. “I’ll keep this for later.” And she eased the coat back on Albinia’s shoulders, and let Albinia button it back up. It was nice watching Albinia’s fingers. She hadn’t let Albinia use them this time but next time perhaps…

And this time, next time would come sooner.

She gave Clementia a slow final kiss before leaving. Clementia stood and stared at the door for a minute. Then she put her bloomers in her purse (it was a private box, if she left them here it would be clear who did it) and sat back down. The opera was more than half over. Onstage people were still singing about marriage but Clementia had lost track of the plot. She let the music wash over her senselessly, and thought about more intimate things. Like the taste of Albinia’s neck. Like the weight of her breasts, the scent of her cologne. Like tomorrow, and how she might send her a note without anyone knowing, and where they might meet without her father catching them (she still couldn’t let that happen again). Like new uses for the necktie, and for Albinia’s tongue, and how she might work her way towards having the right to say “I love you.”


End file.
